


I Found the Cure to Growing Older

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: I Know I'm Supposed to Love You [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Smut, Gay Parents, Harry's Birthday, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mr. Bunny, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Surprise Party, Talking Plushie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has a special evening planned for Harry's 50th birthday. So does their son, Scorpius.</p><p>These are the characters from the Christmas Advent Fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Found the Cure to Growing Older

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ GoldenAge Salt & Pepper Fest, where the characters had to be over 50. The prompt was: (paraphrased) that they're celebrating one of their birthdays at a party and they're walked in on--to the shock of the child/grandchild. 
> 
> I chose it because the shock of people over 50 having sex--how could I not. #53 #me
> 
> Huge thanks to [GeronimoandbeMAGnificent](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Geronimoandbemagnificent) and [221Btls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/221Btls) without whom, this would still be just random letters on a page. 
> 
> The title comes from the FallOutBoy song, [I Slept With Someone In FallOut Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ReM8tVQiK4M) . Yes. that's the actual title of the song.

Draco deep-throated Harry, the fur of tight curls tickling his chin. God, he wanted this, needed this. It had been so long since he’d had the pleasure. Harry mewled with desire as Draco sucked him down. But Harry sank his sharp teeth into the meat of Draco’s thumb. Draco yowled in pain real enough to pull him out of his dream's clutches.

“Well. Good morning to you, BunnyKittyTwo,” Draco snarked, examining the very real bite on his hand. Apparently, he’d been trying to suck off the cat’s tail.

Harry mumbled something that sounded like, “That’s what you get for letting the cat sleep in our bed,” as he wrapped himself around Draco.

“Fuck you too, Potter. And happy birthday.” Draco pressed his arse against Harry, feeling his thick cock. “Today’s a big day. You’re 50. Half a century. Lived more than half your life. Statistically closer to dying than…” Draco’s laugh bubbled up and he fought to keep it contained.

“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy. I was nice to you when _you_ turned 50 last month.” Harry pouted. “And what about my birthday freebie? Everyone knows you’re guaranteed a shag on every holiday and your birthday. It’s the law.”

This was decidedly not how birthday mornings were supposed to start. They were supposed to start with lazy morning sex, then a hot shower together with the birthday boy being meticulously lathered and rinsed. Then, in his best fantasies, they’d tumble back into bed for a nap and lazy lunchtime sex.

Draco rolled over and kissed Harry’s pout. “I told you last night I have back-to-back clients all day today starting at 8.” Harry looked so pathetic, pushing out his bottom lip and batting his lashes, that Draco took pity and kissed him gently once, twice, before he lost himself in the feeling. In the heat pooling in his spine. In the pressure building between his legs.

Harry leaned into Draco’s thigh, pressing so Draco would know how much he wanted him. He drew his fingers down the curve of Draco’s side, lingering on the rise of his arse before tracing the cleft.

Draco’s breath shuddered with each trace of Harry’s finger. “We’ve been together for more than 25 years, and every time you touch me, it’s still mmmmm—” He stopped speaking as Harry’s hand slid under the boxer-brief’s elastic waistband and cupped Draco’s buttock with a squeeze.

“Still--?”

“Still really difficult for me to tell you I can’t—” Draco edged up on his elbow to look at Harry’s bedside clock. “—Shit, I’m going to be late.”

Harry gave a final squeeze and rolled onto his back as Draco scrambled out of bed. “You do this every morning. If you set an alarm, we’d have time to—”

But Draco couldn’t hear Harry over the noise of the flushing toilet and splash of the shower as he waited for the water to heat.

~*~

Years ago, when Harry and Draco were newlyweds and well before Scorpius went off to Hogwarts, Draco’s parents moved to France. Draco’d initially refused their gift of Malfoy Manor, but Harry convinced him that Scorpius would benefit from the rural setting. They could always come back to the city for the day or a weekend, but the woods, the pond, the wildlife would teach their son about finding peace in solitude.

Yet, living in the Manor itself provided no peace. Nightmares began almost immediately and ate away at their relationship and their sanity. Finally, when Scorpius’ teachers called a conference to discuss his deteriorating work and behavior, Draco couldn’t—wouldn’t explain it away any longer.

As soon as the three of them stepped out of the Floo into the kitchen of Malfoy Manor, Draco took charge. “Sit,” he said, pointing to the chairs at the dinner table.

Scorpius had been afraid he’d be punished beyond his imagination, since Papa had been such a good student. Dada was usually more understanding. Scorpius snuck a look at Harry, who seemed just as confused and afraid. He felt a little better.

“We have a decision to make as a family.” Draco brought out the biscuit tin and the jug of milk.

Scorpius felt even better. Nothing bad could happen over biscuits.

“I’m making a decision. We can’t continue to live in this house. It’s—it’s making us all ill. We can move back to the house in Islington. Or—”

Scorpius took another cookie, making sure that Mr. Bunny had a fair share. “Can we get rid of the house?”

Harry patted Scorpius’ leg and handed him another cookie. “We’ll settle in. We just have to—”

“Mr. Bunny says, since we’re a new family, we need a new house. Also, can he have another cookie?” Scorpius said, his hand already in the biscuit tin.

“What?” Draco turned to Scorpius, his eyes narrowed. Harry leaned forward.

Scorpius licked the biscuit, then realized his fathers were staring at him. “I can put it back.” He reached toward the tin, ready to drop the biscuit into it.

“No, not the biscuit.” Draco shook his head and held Scorpius’ hand before he could release it. “What did you say about the house?”

“Mr. Bunny said we’re a new family, we need a new house. Do you want to make him talk again?” Scorpius reached into his pocket and withdrew the tattered piece of paper, spell-o-taped in a half dozen places.

Harry shivered. “Nah, that was seriously creepy last time.”

“We could.” Draco’s eyes were unfocused as he stared past Scorpius. “We really could.”

“Malfoy. Seriously. I had nightmares about that for weeks—”

“Do shut up, _Potter_.” Draco’s words held no heat, only excitement. “I’m not talking about Mr. Bunny. We can tear this place down and build something that’s ours.

Harry gasped. “Draco, this house has been in your family for hundreds of years—”

“You’re my family now, and you both are worth more than some stupid building. And nothing good has ever come from this house.” He said it as a simple statement of truth.

“Don’t say that.” Harry’s voice carried the hurt for Draco and his past. “You came from this house.”

Draco’s heart swelled with the words. “I love you. But Mr. Bunny’s right. Let’s start new. We’ll build the house we want on this land, and it won’t be called Malfoy Manor. We can call it something else. But it will be ours.”

“Per ardua ad astra,” Harry offered. “It’s Latin. It means _through struggle to the stars_.”

Draco stared, drop jawed.

Harry shrugged off Draco’s disbelief. “What? You think I don’t know Latin?”

“I _definitely_ think you don’t know Latin.”

“Ok, you’re right. It was the motto of the school the Dursleys sent me to before Hogwarts. But I still think it describes us.” Scorpius. Draco. The stars.

They temporarily moved back to Islington as the demolition started. The gates went. The manor house went. (Ok, the wine cellar stayed.) Even the albino peacocks were shipped to a Magical Creatures sanctuary. Draco sighed as the last were crated and Portkeyed to their new home. “I’m glad they’re gone. They give me damn nightmares. Freaky things.”

In its place, they built a cottage. They imbued it with the warmth and love of The Burrow and the sleek lines and modern architecture of the Islington home. Harry crafted a sign for the front of the new house, which read Per Ardua Ad Astra, established 2015.

Scorpius just called it Paaa.

~*~

Now, 25 years later, Scorpius had married and was a father to his own 5-year-old; Draco was a sought-after therapist specializing in PTSD. Harry, who’d taken over the role of stay at home dad while Scorpius was home, found that he loved teaching children, moulding them. He’d volunteered at Scorpius’ school, then worked as a part-time teacher.

Harry had refused all the locum offers for his birthday, assuming he and Draco would spend the day together, but that had apparently been one of the times when _you can’t expect me to read your mind, Potter_.

At lunch Draco stepped out of his office to grab an apple before the next patient arrived. He found Harry on all fours in his garden, dirty from sweat and soil as he re-planted his courgette and carrot plantlings. He could hear the music from Harry’s earbuds, one dangling against his chest.

“Do you clean up nicely?” Draco said, tapping Harry’s foot with his own. Harry jumped at the shock of the unexpected touch. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me.”

Harry clutched his chest, the garden trowel still in his hand. “You’re trying to kill me. I turn 50, and you’re trying to kill me. I gotta tell you: rumors of my wealth are exaggerated.” When Harry could breathe again, he dropped the trowel and stood up, brushing as much dirt off his trousers as he could.

Draco laughed at Harry’s distress. “With the Malfoy millions, I have no need of your paltry savings.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled Harry closer to him. “You are the only person I know who could get dirt on his face from gardening.”

Draco kissed a clean spot on Harry’s cheek. “I’ve made reservations at the new French restaurant in Diagon Alley for your birthday. It’s noon now; the reservations are for 7.” He studied Harry’s dirt-stained clothing and his grimy hands. “Do you suppose that will be enough time for you to make yourself presentable?”

“Do you suppose that will be enough time to make yourself presentable?” Harry imitated Draco’s pretentious tone while pulling a ridiculous face. “Aren’t you a laugh.”

Draco blew Harry a kiss, which Harry caught and rubbed on the fly of his work trousers with a waggle of his eye brows.

“Miscreant,” Draco said over his shoulder with a laugh as he returned to his office. Enjoying the view, Harry grinned as he watched Draco walk away. He only returned to his garden when the door to the house closed, leaving him to his imagination.

~*~

Harry cleaned up quite nicely, Draco thought as he straightened Harry’s tie. He’d bribed Harry with a month of blow jobs just to meet with Draco’s Savile Row tailor; now, appreciating Harry’s arse and shoulders in the bespoke suit, Draco knew all the swallowing had been well worth it.

Then he checked himself in the mirror. Draco’s periwinkle bowtie was a daring choice, but it looked beautiful with his eyes, the clear summer sky touching the deep, grey ocean. He fussed with his tie; the bow sat catawampus under the wingtip collar of his shirt and, no matter how many times he tied it, it wouldn’t bend to his will.

Harry watched with a fond smile and gently removed Draco’s hands to hold in his own. “Your tie is fine. You’ll be the best-looking man in Diagon Alley.” Harry brushed his hand across the front of Draco’s trousers, feeling his cock swell with Harry’s touch. “Let’s go so we can come back here.”

Harry’s voice dropped to an octave that Draco swore was magic, the way his body responded to it. He’d spent almost 15 years despising Potter, and then the next 25 loving him more than he’d ever thought possible. Wanting him more than he’d ever thought possible, and this moment was no exception.

Draco cleared his throat and nodded and, as Harry slipped his arm through Draco’s, apparated them to the restaurant.

~*~

Located in the professional section of Diagon Alley, Célébration Magique catered to an upscale crowd. Lawyers and bankers entertained clients in the private dining rooms, and at night, the boutique restaurant overflowed with the beautiful people. The reservation waiting list was months long, and even knowing the owner personally didn’t guarantee a bump up the list.

“Unless Harry Potter saved her life!” Draco boasted as he and Harry walked past the queue to the maître d’. “Reservations for two. Potter is the name. Harry Potter.”

The gentleman tapped the reservations book with his wand. He tapped it again and the pages turned. Tapped it a third time and the pages turned back to their starting place. “I am sorry, Mr. Potter,” he said in his thick, French accent. “We have no such reservation for this evening.”

Draco moved closer, his voice quiet but steely. “I made these reservations with Gabrielle Delacour personally. For Harry Potter. Find them.”

“I am sorry, sir, but Ms. Delacour does this all of the time. She makes a reservation but does not pen them into the book. Even for Harry Potter, I have no room tonight.” The maître d’ shrugged apologetically and called the next party to the door of the restaurant.

Draco gritted his teeth as the man ignored his attempts to speak with him. Finally, with a deep breath and a slow release, Draco took Harry’s hand and led him away from the crowd that was now pointing and gawking.

 _What am I going to do now?_ Draco wondered and silently asked Merlin for help. He tried to regulate his breathing in the hope that he could stave off the headache building behind his eyes.

“It’s the thought, love.” Harry’s thumb stroked Draco’s smooth cheek as he kissed him, regardless of the amateur paparazzi.

Draco broke away mid-kiss, laughing at his brilliant thought. “If we’re going to go to a French restaurant, let’s go to France.” He grabbed Harry’s hand and in a blink they stood in front of an unassuming building in the garment district in Paris. Laughing and talking, people of all ages crowded the pavement, hoping to get inside.

Draco beamed as they wriggled their way to the door. He greeted the doorman with a kiss on both cheeks, speaking in rapid French and touching the man’s shoulders. Within moments, another well-dressed man joined them. Draco hugged him, smiled and turned to Harry. “This is my husband, Harry. Harry, this is Olivier and Christophe. They own this bar, and they’re Mother’s neighbors.”

With bright smiles, the brothers shook Harry’s hand. “We’ve heard a great deal about you from Narcissa.” Expecting lyrical French, Harry was surprised by their Australian drawl as they led Harry and Draco through the modern coffeehouse and down the passageway to the basement bar, carved out of the brickwork of ancient catacombs. “That’s right, we’re transplants,” Olivier said with a smile as broad as his accent.

The brothers seated Harry and Draco at the owners’ table in a dimly lit alcove, and when they realized it was Harry’s birthday, Christophe informed them their night was a gift. Before Draco could order, nibbles and two cocktails appeared at their table. They’d barely finished when another round arrived.

“Draco.” Harry placed his empty martini glass by the edge of the small table; at least he thought he did. He was having trouble judging distance. And seeing. “If we keep drinking, we won’t be able to apparate. If we can’t apparate, we can’t get home. And if we can’t get home, we can’t have sex. And I really, really want to have birthday sex.”

The candle flame flickered in Harry’s glasses, and with his lopsided, drunken grin, Draco loved him even more. “I’m alright to apparate us,” Draco said, swirling the clear liquid in his highball glass. After his first gin & tonic when they’d arrived, he’d switched to seltzer water.

“Let’s go home.” Harry reached under the table and stroked Draco’s thigh, his fingers trailing over Draco’s obvious interest. “Well, well. Look at you.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Let’s go to the loo, and I’ll take care of that for you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Draco nuzzled Harry’s neck, the scent of his citrus soap and cologne too much, too erotic. He dragged himself away, but Harry drew him back, caught Draco’s chin in his hands. He kissed him like it was their first time, high from the electricity in the touch of their lips.

Harry’s voice, already gravelly from the alcohol, seemed even more sensual to Draco. “I think the loo is that way.” He pointed toward the way they’d come. But when he stood, Harry swayed, fell onto Draco, and giggled until he doubled over.

Draco had to admit that just maybe, he should have been counting how many drinks had come across their table. “Potter. How many have you had?”

“Including you, Malfoy?” Harry giggled again. “I don’t kiss and tell.” He captured Draco’s lips in a gentle kiss. “You. You’re my only. Forever.”

Draco melted against Harry, kissing him, nipping his lip and soothing the spot with his tongue. Harry’s sense of decorum, questionable on the best days, had been shredded by the alcohol. He wrapped his fist around Draco’s cock through the trousers and stroked him as they kissed. Even in the alcove, Draco knew they were too hot, too much for public.

“Let’s go home,” Draco said when Harry’s hand palmed his own cock through his thin trousers. If they didn’t leave now, Draco would be on his knees in the loo. He pulled Harry into the hidden corner of the alcove and held on as they disapparated.

They landed on the front porch of the Wiltshire home, and Harry reached for Draco, pulling his shirt from his trousers. He needed to feel Draco’s skin against his, the soft slide of their lips and tongues. It was the only thought he had.

Draco’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on Harry’s suit jacket. “God, I hate buttons,” Draco said, his lips against Harry’s. “Why are we out here? I meant to drop us into the bedroom. The wards—”

“Shut up and kiss me.” Harry held Draco’s face in his palms. Nothing existed but them and this. And their want. He moved just enough to press his cock against Draco’s thigh, to slide his hand down to Draco’s ass and pull him closer.

 _Toomuchnotenoughtoomuchnotenough._ Draco’s thoughts faded, with only the buzz of need driving him. He slipped to his knees and mouthed at Harry’s erection, the cock twitching with the warmth of Draco’s breath.

Harry moaned, his voice rough and rasp. “Don’t fucking tease me, Malfoy. I’ve been so goddamn fucking hard since this morning.” He tried to pull Draco’s head back in, but Draco leaned back.

He looked up at Harry, watched his chest move with heavy breath. “Not teasing. Just have to release The Chosen One.” Once he unzipped Harry’s trousers, the cock sprung out and Draco captured it in his mouth, swallowing it down to the base, just as he’d done in his dream that morning. Draco’s head bobbed up and down, meeting his fist halfway.

Harry laced his fingers behind his head and thrust his hips forward, fucking into Draco’s mouth. “That’s right. Right here on the porch. That’s right.” Harry looked down through his half-closed eyes. Draco looked gorgeous, his lips stretched around Harry’s cock, so proper and perfect. _So mine_.

“Baby, I’m—I can’t—I’m gonna—” Harry felt the delicious tightening in his balls, the sibilation of white noise crowding out even Draco’s needy moans.

The warmth of Draco’s mouth left Harry’s cock as he came, and he spurted on Draco’s cheek, his chin, over his open jaw.

 _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY_ the crowd behind Scorpius shouted through the open front door.

“Oh, fuck.” Draco said, still on his knees with his face striped with come. A surprise party.

“Oh, fuck.” Scorpius said, immobilized by trauma. _Why did I think these two could behave for one night._

“O _h, fuckyeah_ ,” Harry said, his eyes still closed, swaying with his post-orgasm euphoria.

“Papa, what’s Granddada doing? What’s on Grandpapa’s face?” Antares asked, pulling on Scorpius’ sleeve.

He scooped his daughter up and over his shoulder. “Nothing to see here, people.” Scorpius sounded too upbeat as he pushed everyone back inside. Before he closed the door he snapped through clenched teeth, “For Merlin’s sake. Clean yourselves up, and try to act your age.”

Scorpius slammed the door, shaking Harry out of his reverie. “Oh, Merlin, was that Scorp?”

Still on his knees in front of Harry, Draco hid his face in his hands, ignoring the smearing ejaculate. His rounded shoulders shook.

“Honey, it’s—It’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.” Harry hugged Draco’s head to his thigh, but the shaking intensified.

Harry tucked his cock back into his trousers and zipped them up before he crouched down to console Draco. He drew Draco’s hands away from his face.

Tears streamed down Draco’s cheeks as his laughter grew. “Oh. My. God. All those people. You were—and then I was—and Scorpius was—” Draco imitated their son’s slack-jawed shock through his hysterics.

Harry unknotted his tie and wiped Draco’s face, hoping to make him presentable. “What do we do now?”

“What we’ve always done. Go into your party, hold onto each other, and ignore any commotion we caused.” Draco wiped a lingering smudge from his cheek. He rolled Harry’s tie and tucked it into his pocket with a smile. “And hope one day, Anteres finds her father in the same position—unable to keep his hands to himself, no matter how ancient he is.”


End file.
